


Recycled Air

by sablier_bloque



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sablier_bloque/pseuds/sablier_bloque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean might be willing to throw everything away, but Sam isn't. Coda/reaction piece to 5.16.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recycled Air

**Author's Note:**

> Um, self indulgent? Seriously, after the last episode, I'm in major need of a big ol' make up (and make out?) between Sam and Dean. As always, a huge thanks to autumn_lilacs for betaing. ILU. Title from the Postal Service song.

Sam stares into the trash for at least five minutes. The Impala’s running right outside the door, and yeah, they should get a move on, but his feet are glued to the carpet.

The amulet is just sitting there on top of their bloody shirts and takeout containers, the leather cord getting lost in the plaid flannel. The fingers of Sam’s right hand twitch, and he wonders if it’s even worth it; if picking it up will even make a difference in the long run.

He snatches it up anyway, remembering the last time it was in his hand before he gave it back to Dean after hell. He clears his throat, swallowing the lump there, and sticks the necklace into his wallet.

Dean’s listening to Metallica’s “Hero of the Day” when Sam gets in the car, and neither of them says a single word for the next 300 miles.

///

It’s been a month and he can’t stop thinking about the damn necklace. The way that Dean tossed it like it was just a crumbled up receipt still makes Sam’s brow furrow.

They’re both drunk one night after another close call with Zachariah, passing a bottle of Jameson back and forth. Dean’s sitting on the edge of his bed and Sam is on his, but the mattresses are close together and it’s not much of a stretch. A rerun of _Fraiser_ is playing on the TV with low volume, and it’s not enough of a distraction from what’s in Sam’s wallet.

“Why’d you do it?” Sam asks, his voice oddly quiet and he’s a little surprised that he even said it.

“Do what?”

Sam shakes his head.

“What, man?”

“Throw it away.”

Dean stares at the TV for a long time and takes a couple of swigs from the bottle, hiding his grimace as he always does when the whiskey goes down. Sam waits, his eyes on Dean and desperate for a reaction. He gets nothing so he shucks off his clothes and crawls under the blanket of his own bed.

“We’re not gonna find God, right?” Dean says after he turns the TV off. “It’s not important anymore.”

He talks like the entire reason he ever wore it was to find God.

“Right,” Sam says. He turns over to face the wall.

 

///

Sometimes Sam thinks about just throwing it out again, but that would be the same as throwing away everything Sam’s been lousily trying to fix. He takes it out whenever he’s by himself, twirling the cord around his fingers in truck stop bathrooms, remembering Dean’s face when he gave it to him when they were kids.

No, he can’t throw it out.

///

They start sharing dreams, Gabriel’s laughter harsh and brittle in the background. The angel starts twisting their wants, making Sam and Dean see perverted, mangled versions of their real hopes and desires.

They both dream about Dean and Castiel hunting – being so in tune together that it was like they’ve been doing it their whole lives. A stranger, a girl in her twenties, comes up to them and asks how Sam is doing, and Dean shakes his head, apologizing that he doesn’t know whom the girl’s referring to.

They wake up, both of them facing each other, and Dean clears his throat. “Sammy, you know that I, I don’t—“

“Yeah, man,” Sam says. “Whatever.” He tries to go back to sleep, but he can’t. He goes for a walk and doesn’t bother to leave Dean a note. He almost smiles when he gets back and sees the look of panic in Dean’s eyes.

///

Dean asks him if he wants to drive the next day, and Sam raises his eyebrows.

“Really?” Sam asks, voice thick with skepticism.

“Do you want to, or not, dude?”

Sam holds out his hand and Dean throws him the keys.

“Keep the chick music to a minimum,” Dean says before getting in the passenger seat.

///

The next night, they dream about Sam kissing Dean, no clothes between them. They’re both sweaty, the sheets are twisted and the pillows are on the floor. Dean arches against him and Sam wraps his hand around both of their cocks, both of them moaning at the touch.

Dean’s wearing the amulet and Sam uses the cord to pull Dean up to him.

“I love that you’ve never taken this off,” Sam says against Dean’s mouth, his throat. “It’s like I’m always with you.”

Dean shakes his head. “I won’t ever… I’ll always wear it.”

When they wake up this time, Dean doesn’t say a word. He throws on a pair of jeans and grabs the keys. Dean slams the door and Sam hears the rumble of the Impala seconds later.

He doesn’t come back until the next day, eyes red and reeking of alcohol and sex.

Sam doesn’t really know what to think.

///

It’s September, and they’re already four Horsemen deep into the Apocalypse. People are finally starting to realize that the world is crumbling down around them. It’s not anarchy or madness, but there’s the slow, rising hum of panic that covers towns like fog.

They fight a couple of demons in Corbin, Kentucky who have been hot on their tail for a while now. One stupidly walks into a Devil’s Trap within seconds, but the other one, whose meat suit belongs to a sixty-year-old woman, plays hard to get. She’s a box blonde with a too tight t-shirt that says “World’s Best Grandma.”

She pulls a knife out of her back pocket and slices line after line into her arms and torso while Sam and Dean chase after her. The smell of her blood hits Sam so strongly that he almost doubles over.

“Yeah, Sammy,” she says, twisted grin on her mouth revealing half a dozen missing teeth. “Smells good, doesn’t it? Want to taste?”

Sam’s eyes move to Dean’s face. His brother looks terrified, a terror that could quickly turn to anger and disappointment if Sam gives in. His own blood pulses at the thought of the rush it will give him if he just grabs her and tastes.

Sam moves forward, blocking her punch and landing his own in her gut. He sticks Ruby’s knife into the demon’s neck, not even staying long enough to watch the light flash under her wrinkled skin before he runs out of the building to escape the smell.

Dean comes out a few minutes later, the now cleaned knife in his hand, and he pats Sam on the back. It’s the first time they’ve touched in months.

“You did good, Sam.”

That night, Sam dream about Dean, amulet around his neck, offering his own blood to Sam if it will take away the need for a demon’s. Sam wake up and sighs in relief when he sees that Dean’s still asleep.

///

“You ever think about what Ash said?” Dean asks one night. It’s late, I-10 is practically empty at this point, and Sam was almost asleep before Dean spoke.

“What?” Sam replies. His mind is a little too fuzzy at this point to truly understand.

“When we were in heaven. You know… about the people who share their heaven together?”

“Too tired,” Sam replies.

Dean sighs. “Never mind.”

///

It’s the night before Thanksgiving and Sam wakes up in the passenger seat to Dean nudging him. “We’re here,” Dean says and Sam sees that they’re in front of Bobby’s house.

“Is Bobby okay? I didn’t know we were stopping here.”

“Yep,” Dean replies, not offering any more information.

Sam goes back to sleep on the couch when they get in the house, listening to Dean and Bobby talk until he drifts off.

The next morning, he wakes up to the smell of… food, which isn’t something Sam has smelled in this house since Bobby’s wife came back. When Sam walks into the kitchen, he’s greeted by the sight of Dean basting a turkey. A turkey.

Dean.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Sam asks.

“Cooking a turkey?” Dean replies without turning around.

“Yeah, I see that. Why?”

“’Cause it’s Thanksgiving?”

Sam sits at the small kitchen table. “You say that like it’s an obvious reply.”

“’Cause it is,” Dean says. He puts foil back on the turkey and places it in the oven.

“We don’t exactly _do_ Thanksgiving, Dean.”

Dean turns around and shrugs. “We’re not kids anymore. We can do whatever we want for Thanksgiving.”

Sam suddenly remembers Heaven’s literal walk down Memory Lane and Dean’s reaction to Sam’s first real Thanksgiving. “Oh.”

Dean turns back around. “Well, you know, Bobby might want a proper Thanksgiving after losing his wife again.”

Sam nods, trying not to smile. Dean moves to the sink to rinse potatoes. “Might invite Cas too… if that’s cool.”

Sam tries to imagine this fucked up version of family Thanksgiving, with an ex-addict, a cripple, a fallen angel, and Dean.

Sam grins.

///

It’s a frigid winter, and Dean keeps complaining about how Global Warming is getting it all wrong.

“And it’s fucking hell on earth. You’d think it’d be a little toastier,” Dean says, closing the motel door behind him. He puts the Mexican takeout on the table and Sam sorts through the boxes.

“It’s not really, _warming_ , Dean. It’s about environmental changes—“

“Dude, Sam, I really don’t care.” Dean takes a huge bite out of his burrito and leans forward. “Do you remember that December we spent in Tampa? It was so warm there. Never lower than 50 degrees.”

Sam nods, his eyes wide because –

“That was the year that I stole those presents and you got the Barbie for Christmas.” Dean laughs, loud and hardy and it’d be good to hear if Sam wasn’t thinking about _his_ gift to Dean that year. “Then you got me the—“ Dean trails off, and his face sobering so quickly that it makes Sam’s stomach churn. Dean’s eyes cut to his food and Sam watches the way Dean’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

Sam doesn’t except Dean to say anything, but Dean looks back up and opens his mouth. “Pretty good Christmas.”

///

Sam wonders if this is a dumb idea; if this is going to demolish everything they’ve been slowly putting together for the past few months. Sam walks into the motel room on Christmas Eve with eggnog and rum and a bag full of Christmas candy. He takes the goods out of the bags and sets them on the table.

“Special occasion, Sammy?” Dean asks, looking up from his bed. He’s got weapons all over it, and he’s cleaning the barrel of a gun.

Sam’s nervous, but he’s trying to play it cool. He shrugs and laughs nervously. “Some holiday or something. Figured we hadn’t gotten drunk in a while.”

They drink for a couple of hours, spiked eggnog turning into straight up rum because there’s only so much eggnog that the stomach can handle. Sam waits until midnight to sit next to Dean. By that time, the bed’s cleared of weapons and Dean’s sitting on the edge of the mattress facing Sam’s bed. Sam’s not drunk, and he doesn’t think that Dean is either. He’s fuzzy from the alcohol, but not enough to completely lower inhibitions.

So Sam is still anxious.

“You wanna watch TV?” Dean asks, and Sam pulls Dean’s gift of out his back pocket. It’s wrapped in the page of a magazine and the paper’s crumbly and wrinkled.

Dean pushes it away slowly. “Nah, man. I didn’t even buy you anything.”

“I didn’t buy it. Just open it.”

When Dean grabs it, Sam knows that Dean’s aware of what’s inside; it’s too light to be anything else and his jaw falls open.

“Sammy,” he whispers. “I…” his hands are trembling, and Sam bites his lip.

The packaging falls to the floor and Dean stares at it in his hands. It’s funny how good it looks just touching Dean’s skin.

Dean’s eyes are a little wet when he looks at Sam, but he smirks. “Dude, re-gifting? Kind of lame.” His thumb runs over the face of the amulet. “It’s, uh, even better the second time.” He pauses. “Third time.”

“Cas was probably too optimistic and naïve about finding God with it,” Sam says. “But you and I have to do this either way.” He nods toward the necklace. “Together.”

Dean nods and holds it out to Sam. “You wanna do the honors?” Dean leans forward when Sam takes it, and Sam can smell the knockoff brand of shampoo they’re using right now. He slips it over Dean’s head, his forearms brushing Dean’s ears as the cord falls to his neck. Dean tilts his head back up but doesn’t move away.

Sam touches the cord of the necklace, his fingers moving down to trace the grooves of the amulet and press it against Dean’s chest where it belongs.

“It looks good,” Sam says, and he thinks to his dream, the way he tugged on the necklace and Dean’s lips met his.

Before Sam can tell himself to stop or to curse Gabriel for even giving him the idea, Dean moves forward and brushes his mouth against Sam’s softly. It’s _chaste_ , shockingly so considering the giver of the kiss. But Dean’s kissing him, Sam, his _brother_ , and maybe that’s why Dean’s a little hesitant. Sam pulls back.

“Dean, that dream—“

“I never wanted to forget that you existed, but sometimes,” Dean shakes his head. “Sometimes, I thought it’d be easier if I didn’t have to worry about you anymore – the blood and Lucifer and – Gabriel twisted it all up, but the meat of it, it was true, Sammy.”

It’s a punch to the gut, a punch he deserves, but Sam can’t think of a time where he’s seen Dean’s face this open. It’s worth it.

“And now?” Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head. “Not anymore, but the truth used to be there, hidden in all of that. So there’s got to be some truth to your dream. That night… it’s fucked up, but we’ve always been fucked up.” Dean gives a small smile and cocks his head.

Sam kisses Dean this time, Dean’s lips opening under his own and Dean’s tongue swiping tentatively into Sam’s mouth.

It’s a shitty idea; just another screw up to put on the Winchester brothers’ track record, but the next morning when Sam wakes up to Dean next to him, it doesn’t even matter.

///

A month later, they’re in a church in El Paso, Texas when Dean’s amulet glows red and hot against his chest.


End file.
